


What We Won't Do

by hilaryfaye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:50:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilaryfaye/pseuds/hilaryfaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There have been lines drawn in their relationship since the beginning, and some of them can't be crossed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Won't Do

There were three photographs on the desk of Dr. Sylvan Anderson. The first was his mother and sister. The second was he, his wife, and their daughter at a park when it was snowing. The third was of him, Dimmock and Sally Donovan at a pub. They were all smiling.

Sitting at his desk, Anderson was not.

He had an extra hour’s paperwork because of Sherlock Holmes, and he was furious. Lestrade must have broken thirty regulations, allowing Holmes onto as many cases as they’d called upon him for. Someday, this would catch up with them, and Anderson didn’t intend to sink with that ship.

“Alright?”

He looked up, and managed a smile. Sally handed him a cup of tea. “You always work late when the freak is involved.”

“Thanks,” Anderson murmured. “How are you?”

“Fine, I suppose.” He sipped at the tea. Sally always made it too strong but he never said anything to her about it.

She glanced around. No one was paying the slightest attention to them. “Are we still on for tonight?”

He nodded. A thin sliver of guilt worried its way through him. His wife had taken their daughter to the States to visit her family. He always felt guilty, but… there were other things that overpowered that guilt.

Sally touched his arm a moment and smiled before she went back to work. Anderson watched her go.

He looked at the picture of his family, and put a hand over his mouth. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his wife. He did. And he knew she knew about the affair, but neither of them had talked about it.

Sally… she was special. She had a fire in her. She never tolerated any bullshit, least of all from him. And for some mad reason she felt something for him.

He stared at the photo for a moment more, and pushed it back, trying to focus on the paperwork again.

 

 

“I miss your beard,” Sally murmured, running a finger along his chin. Anderson ran his hand down her side, over the curve of ribs, waist, hip, and thigh. The bed was warm and soft and he’d have been happy to stay there for days. They were in Sally’s flat—he never slept with her in the bed he shared with his wife.

That was one line he wouldn’t cross.

“Do you?”

“Yes. It suits you.” She ran her fingers through her hair, and sighed. “I miss you sometimes when I’m standing right next to you.”

He knew what she meant. He never used to think it was possible, missing someone who was right there. She could be within arm’s reach and yet a thousand miles away. He wished he was good with words. He kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

“Do you?”

She wanted him to leave his wife. Anderson knew why. She wanted confirmation that she was more than just the Other Woman.

He couldn’t do it, though. He couldn’t leave Jenna. He loved her just as much as he loved Sally, and he couldn’t imagine being without the woman he’d been married to for ten years, the mother of his daughter. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with Sally; he just didn’t want to be without Jenna.

“Yes.”

Sally sighed, and tucked her head against his chest. Her breath tickled his skin. “I love you too. Damn you.” She smiled.

Sally loved Anderson for a few reasons. She loved how invested he was in his work. She loved his smile. She loved the way he could recount almost every moment of Dr. Who, and the books he read and adored.

She loved the way he gave that same adoration to everything he loved. He’d give a loved one his left arm at the drop of a hat if he thought they might need it. He brought her coffee in the morning if it looked like she needed a second cup. When they were out at the pub he’d buy her the first drink.

He loved her, but he wouldn’t leave his wife.

Sally liked Jenna well enough, but she didn’t like sharing. She didn’t like that, even if he loved her, Anderson put Jenna first. He would always put Jenna first, even though he kept coming back to Sally.

“Sylvan,” she murmured.

“Mmm?”

“Will she still be away this weekend?”

“Yes.” He rubbed her back, his hands warm and soft. Sally closed her eyes.

“Will you come over?”

“If you want me to.” Anderson kissed her softly.

_If you want me to._  Sally touched his face with a sigh. “Sylvan,”

“Yes?”

She didn’t know what she wanted to say.

 

 

Jenna and Patricia came home on a Wednesday, while Anderson was still at work. He came home to find Jenna making dinner, and Patricia watching a movie. He was usually comforted by this, but something about it felt hollow today.

Perhaps it was how silent Sally had been that day, knowing Jenna was coming back. Anderson knew he couldn’t appease her, knew he couldn’t give her what she wanted when it came to Jenna. Sally had flatly asked him to leave her once. He had told her no. She hadn’t asked why, or tried to convince him; she’d just nodded without a word and left his flat. Anderson had half expected he would never see her again, but she came back. She never asked him to leave Jenna again.

Jenna looked up at him, and managed a smile, but she looked sad. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” he murmured. “Yours?”

“Tiring. Trish has a cold.”

Anderson hung up his coat, feeling his wife’s eyes on his back. Patricia wasn’t paying them any mind.

“It’s Sally, isn’t it?” Jenna said when he turned round again. “I wondered, for a while.”

Anderson didn’t make denials; he didn’t ask her what she meant. “How did you find out?”

“You left your email open,” Jenna said softly, “I guess you forgot. I didn’t mean to read it, I thought it was mine. I was confused as to how Sally would have my email, and then…” Jenna trailed off, stirring the contents of the frying pan. “I don’t mind, really,” she went on, “I just wish you’d been honest with me.”

Anderson was quiet, watching their daughter.

“Do you want a divorce?” Jenna asked.

“No,” he said firmly. “Do you?”

“No.”

Jenna was quiet a moment, and she said—“Alright then.” End of conversation.

 

 

Sally poured a drink, stirring her reheated leftovers. Halfway across London, Anderson was eating dinner with his wife and daughter. Sally was eating leftovers with her sister.

“I don’t know why you do it,” Cora said, “You could have anyone you wanted, Sally.”

Sally didn’t answer. She knew. She didn’t want them, though. Dimmock had hinted that he was interested in her, but she didn’t have those feelings about him. It was better to have drinks with him. Dimmock wasn’t Sylvan.

“His wife will find out sooner or later.”

“She already knows,” Sally said. “I’m sure she does. I ran into her at the café. She saw me, and just brushed past.” Sally sat, picking at her reheated noodles. She didn’t have much of an appetite.

“So are you still seeing him?” Cora asked.

Sally took another drink. “Yes. Damn him, but I love him.”

Cora touched Sally’s hand, and gave a sympathetic expression. “I’m sorry, Sally.”


End file.
